


stillness of remembering

by Maria_Antonina



Series: keep my visions to myself [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Swearing, feelings are hard you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maria_Antonina/pseuds/Maria_Antonina
Summary: Zeb was coping, and well at that. Which is why it physically pained him to see Agent Kallus apply the same strategy and fall apart at the seams when he thought nobody was looking.(Or in which Zeb figures things out and Kallus is not helping.)





	stillness of remembering

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you @avatarpabu97 over at tumblr dot com for reading through and reassuring me that this does, in fact, seem to make sense.
> 
> Based on [this post](https://myinkandtrees.tumblr.com/post/173328463669/am-i-the-only-one-who-feels-like-kallus-and-zeb) made by @myinkandtrees, also at tumblr dot com.
> 
> (EDIT 31/05: now polished up and with fixed grammar, courtesy of the spousal unit!)

 

 

 

Zeb was old enough to be at peace with his personal limitations.

 

It had been a long and bumpy road to this point, with one particular pothole of his entire species getting slaughtered leading him away from the path for some time, but he was fairly sure he got it now. Having met Rex and the rest of the clones certainly helped, and being around the kids all the time didn’t hurt, either -- it put many things in perspective. He might be a grumpy bastard with a bad temper, but by Ashla, at least he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

 

He’s accepted early on that Lira San would never become a home for him. He’d thought for too long to be one of the few survivors of Lasat, not the only one, but near enough. The crushing loneliness of those years, only marginally dissipated by Hera and Kanan, cut into his soul too deeply and left a scar too ugly to expose civilians to. Chava sent him cryptic messages, sometimes, that he supposed were meant to reconnect him to his people -- old legends that she found root for on their original planet, running commentary on the royal family, little anecdotes about somebody’s kids she picked up at the market. He kept his responses jovial but short, claiming rebellion duties, knowing that the old hag could probably see right through his excuses. She didn’t need to tell him that he’s running away, keeping himself at a distance not to be hurt again, because he _knew_. He knew.

 

It wasn’t not much of a bother. He wasn’t needed at Lira San, but there was a bunk with his name on it on _Ghost_ , and frankly, Zeb wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

He was… happy. There were dark corners of his soul that he took care to leave well enough alone, because trying to work on them could break him to pieces and there was no time for that now. Yavin IV had a thousand and one jobs to do, and only one lasat for the wookies to spar with. War waits for no-one.

 

In other words, he was coping, and well at that. Which is why it physically pained him to see Agent Kallus apply the same strategy and fall apart at the seams when he thought nobody was looking.

 

It’d been six months since Atollon, and Kallus was doing alright, all things considered. He hadn’t been forced to kill anyone in self-defence, for one, which spoke volumes about a man who openly criticised the base’s combat instructors. Kallus’ fiery dedication and perfectionism put fear into hearts of lesser men, and quite possibly intimidated the command into promoting him up to captain in record time. He also seemed to have gained a giggly sort of following, with people of all species betting inappropriate amounts of credits on who will finally get to bang the handsome defector. And yet, for all the hopeful looks and wistful sighs, Kallus had yet to make a single friend. It was like there was this gaping chasm of guilt and anger between him and everyone else that he wasn’t not sure how to cross. He kept it together on the surface, of course, all very Imperial, but Zeb had been there and done that. He could see Kallus being slowly consumed by his own thoughts, and didn’t know how to help. It was... _infuriating_.

 

More so that, technically, Zeb shouldn’t care. Between Lasan and Kallus chasing them around the galaxy for years, the man deserved all the remorse that kept him up at night. And yet, and yet, Zeb found himself seeking him out each time they docked at Yavin IV.

 

“You don’t have to mother me, you know,” said Kallus, somewhat muffled through the ice pack he was holding up to his face. “I had it under control.”

 

“Sure,” Zeb agreed easily. “Next time, I’ll just stand by and let them beat you up.”

 

They were occupying a couple of empty crates left forgotten in the corner of the cargo bay, definitely Not Hiding from anyone who could possibly ask questions about the five new recruits found mysteriously unconscious just outside the shooting range. Privately, Zeb was fuming, but Kallus would just clam up if he showed it. He might point Chopper at them later, though.

 

The recruits came from Lothal, smuggled out some years ago, then quickly recaptured and put to work in an Imperial mine another Rebel cell liberated last week. They didn’t stop to ask anyone what the former ISB agent was doing at the base. Only two were left standing by the time Zeb showed up to knock their heads together, but they got Kallus by surprise and managed to clock a few good ones before he gathered his wits.

 

“There won’t be a next time,” Kallus said soberly, the void opening up under his words. “I know what to look out for, now.”

 

“Any new face Draven hasn’t got to yet?”

 

Zeb didn’t quite manage to keep the anger out of his voice, and immediately wished he’d kept his mouth shut as he watched the void spill out between them. Draven liked Kallus, it seemed, for all the wrong reasons -- things that made him a good Imperial officer, to be precise. Things that, in Zeb’s humble opinion, weren’t doing Kallus’ mental state any favours, like his ability to emotionally detach from the mission at hand, or make difficult decisions, usually involving sacrificing an agent for the greater good. Watching them plot together was something of an experience, and the general made it quite clear that no retribution for Kallus’ past sins was to be had. Which would be all well and good, if Kallus wasn’t so convinced that he owed some sort of a debt to any Rebel he’s ever shot at before.

 

Sighing, Zeb abandoned his crate to bodily impose on Kallus’ personal space -- sitting too close always caused the other man to fuss about body heat, and bickering was better than the alternative. Zeb had been subjected to a silent spell more than once, but had started learning how to break one up before it froze.

 

“Most of the base knows you’re on our side now, Kal,” he said evenly, ignoring the put off glare. “You don’t owe anyone a punching, or an explanation.”

 

“An explanation would have saved us all some bacta,” Kallus muttered, lowering the ice pack. His lip was split and swollen, and he was going to have a nasty black eye.

 

“The droid didn’t give you any,” Zeb reminded him. Then remembered the state they left the attackers in. “...Oh. For the other guys.”

 

“Yeah. Them.”

 

“You’re not feeling guilty about them, are you?,” Kallus shrugged noncommittally, and Zeb wanted to throttle him. “That’s messed up, man. They could’ve killed you.”

 

Kallus glared at him. “Give me some credit,” he said dryly. “I was trying not to kill _them_.”

 

Zeb was very much aware of that. They sparred regularly, and after each time he felt like he’d just fought for his life. Kallus could get downright vicious with a training staff. If nothing else, it kept Zeb’s reflexes on point. That didn't seem like the right thing to admit at the time, though.

 

“Still,” he said instead. “I don't like that it could happen again.”

 

Kallus rolled his eyes, clearly well on his way to actually being annoyed with Zeb now. “And if it does, so what? The big bad Imperial gets a kicking, the base feels better for a while. I can do my job whether people like me or not.”

 

“This isn’t a Star Destroyer,” Zeb reminded him. “We’re all supposed to trust each other here.”

 

“That’s… not really attainable.”

 

And that was a sad goddamn thing to hear, as far as Zeb was concerned. He wasn’t very good at this whole helping business; Kallus’ head was firmly up his ass about certain matters, and he wasn’t nearly eloquent enough to get through to him on his own.

 

“Oh, please stop making that face,” Kallus elbowed him hard in the ribs.

 

“Ow!,” he yelped. “What was that for?”

 

“Stop _mothering_ , Zeb,” the tone was light, but Kallus’ eyes were serious. “I-- I need to work this out on my own.”

 

“Yeah,” Zeb felt his ears fall, but what can one lasat do? Humans were stubborn creatures. “Yeah, I get that.”

 

*

 

“What is it that you want from him?”

 

Zeb didn’t remember asking Kanan for advice on this, but here they were, stuck in the _Phantom_ on a supply run and having A Conversation. He got a message from Kallus -- work related, even though he was supposed to be off shift for a full cycle -- and grumbled about it, and, well, the Jedi asked. Zeb had been rather frustrated with his lack of progress in dealing with the void, but of course Kanan wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t make it into an awkward learning opportunity.

 

“I want him to stop being an idiot, that’s what I want,” he muttered. “I’ve been there, Kanan. If not for you and Hera, I’d be a dancing monkey for a Hutt by now.”

 

“Kallus seems to be doing okay,” Kanan said, tone mild enough but Zeb had a feeling he was being made fun of anyway. “Besides, your situations are hardly comparable.”

 

Zeb winced. “I know, alright?,” he said, exasperated. “But I was the one who got him thinking about stuff, and now he’s-- I don’t want him regretting it, I guess.”

 

“I doubt the Empire would take him back.”

 

“What?!,” Zeb squeezed the controls so hard they swerved off course for a second. He scrambled to get back on trail, his heart hammering. “That’s NOT what I meant.”

 

Kanan smirked, completely unruffled. The bastard.

 

“In any case,” he said, “the half of Yavin that isn’t trying to trip him up is trying to get into his pants-- did you just growl?”

 

“No,” Zeb said resolutely. “I cleared my throat.”

 

For a blind man, Kanan had quite a piercing glare. “...as I was saying. _Someone_ is bound to break through, eventually. No ex-Imperial is an island, and all that.”

 

“He doesn’t seem interested,” Zeb wouldn't dream of opening that can of worms, but he asked Andor, and that were his exact words, although the man wore an incredibly annoying blank face when saying them. “Anyway, we’re friends. Somehow. I’m not gonna fob him off on the first sentient that comes along.”

 

There was a long stretch of silence, and Zeb honestly couldn’t tell if Kanan was deep in thought, biting on his tongue or has decided The Talk was finished. He started to relax, gradually, thinking the worst over, but oh boy, was he wrong about that.

 

Kanan straightened in his seat, and turned to face Zeb. His expression would be comically grave if Zeb didn’t suspect he was being mocked.

 

“Zeb,” Kanan started, very calmly, like he was negotiating with a crazed pirate. “Hera told me to keep this to myself--”

 

“You should always listen to Hera, mate.”

 

“--but I feel like the circumstances have changed.”

 

Great. Not only was Zeb about to be subjected to something embarrassing, Hera was going to be pissed at him, too.

 

“Do your worst,” he grumbled, putting _Phantom_ on autopilot and turning to face the Jedi, who actually looked somewhat apprehensible. “Well? Spit it out!”

 

“I think I know why Kallus hasn’t taken anyone up on their… offers.”

 

“He’s got a stick up his ass. That’s not exactly a secret.”

 

Kanan sighed and steepled his fingers together, elbows resting on his knees. “Please don’t freak out on me?,” he asked. Zeb made a face. Did Kallus have a wife and children spirited away somewhere? No, he’d never have left the Empire, and he didn’t seem to have a blooming social life back then either-- “Zeb, are you okay?”

 

The Jedi looked like he was reconsidering the entire thing, but Zeb wasn’t about to let him back out now. “Out with it!”

 

“I think he knows you-- _like_ him.”

 

Sometimes, Zeb was grateful Kanan was blind. He couldn’t see how his ears nearly fused into his skull.

 

They were silent for a moment, Kanan avoiding eye contact -- which would be hilarious in any other situation -- and Zeb, well, staring. Finally, he felt like his insides stopped dancing around and he could risk speaking without it becoming a scream. “Karabast, Jarrus,” he said. “Is this some sort of Force nonsense?”

 

“There’s another bet you might’ve not heard about,” Kanan raised his hands, like he expected to be punched any minute now. Zeb couldn’t promise that wasn’t on the menu. “And gossip. So much gossip.”

 

“Kanan--”

 

“I’ve known you for years, Zeb. You make friends easily. You’re too empathetic for your own good,” these didn’t sound like compliments, the way Kanan said them, “But this is different, isn’t it?”

 

Zeb’s mind was blank, to be completely honest. A part of his brain screamed at him to protest, another gave him a crash course in current events enhanced with this new information.

 

Kanan sighed.  “You _like_ him, Zeb,” he said, in a tone implying that he didn’t have all night to wait for Zeb to figure it out on his own.

 

“I-- I’m not sure what to do with this knowledge,” Zeb admitted.

 

Kanan seemed a little taken aback. Perhaps he expected more of a fight, but frankly, Zeb didn’t feel like he had the emotional capacity for it. He also didn’t feel like unravelling the mess in his head in front of a friend, but hey. He’d trust his opinion in any other circumstances.

 

“Talk to him when we get back?”

 

Zeb’s blood froze solid. “Absolutely not.”

 

“Brilliant,” Kanan laughed. “Good chat.”

 

“Let’s not mention this again.”

 

They didn’t. Before Zeb had a chance to touch the subject again, they went back to Lothal.

 

*

 

They missed each other constantly for the next several months. Draven figured that Kallus’ face wasn’t on every wanted poster thorough the Empire anymore, and an extra pair of hands never hurt an operation before. He had his own plucky team of spies to train now, too, so even when Zeb stayed behind when his crew left for Mandalore, they barely had time to meet for lunch, let alone… talk.

 

Zeb was stalling, true, but he needed time to think. Not usually prone to be introspective, he found himself over analyzing every little interaction him and Kallus ever had, and generally trying to digest the idea that he was having Feelings, all of sudden. If Kallus noticed, or thought it odd, he didn’t say anything.

 

The thing was, Zeb had come to terms with never finding a partner. For years, he assumed himself to be the last of his species -- sure, there were always interspecies relations to experiment with, but he considered it one of his… personal limitations. He had buried that part of himself deep enough for it to stop hurting, and wasn’t sure if digging it up was really such a brilliant plan. On the other hand…

 

Kanan was right. It must have been Ashla’s idea of a joke, but Zeb truly seemed to _like_ like the same man who had a hand in annihilating his entire species. Kallus was nearly tall and hairy enough to be attractive by lasat standards, but if Zeb was ever inclined to think about it any deeper than he already has, that unbelievable snark probably had a lot to do with it, too.

 

And the inhumanly strict honor code. And the voice. And the single-minded focus that made his face, like, sharper. And…

 

Zeb had probably already thought about it too deeply. Once he started, it was difficult to stop.

 

It didn’t help that he had no idea how Kallus would feel about it. According to Kanan, he knew, and for some reason chose not to say anything. He had enough people bothering him already, which mostly seemed just to annoy the living daylights out of him, and rather depressingly, Zeb _was_ his only friend. He didn’t want to make it weird. Humans had famously all kinds of hang-ups about choosing their partners, and Zeb was nowhere near knowledgeable enough to even begin figuring out what Kallus was into.

 

He was kind of relieved he didn’t get around to making a mess of it, once they got to Lothal and everything went pear-shaped.

 

He didn’t think anything would ever compare to waking up on the ruins of his homeworld, but losing Kanan came pretty close. Watching Hera grieve was so unbearable, he was actually thankful for the distraction of gigantic, mystic Jedi wolves.

 

And then Kallus came to help.

 

Zeb didn’t doubt he would, but seeing him again after all the loss and misery felt like a punch to the gut. Suddenly, he had all the certainty in the world that -- if he survived this Ashla-forsaken planet -- he needed to give this a shot. He’d lost everything once already; he might as well _try_ to get something new out of life. And if Kallus wasn’t up for it, he’d still have a friend. He’d still have his family.

 

Then, Ezra got spirited away by giant space whales and Zeb wasn’t so sure if he could take any more losses.

 

Lothal, as a whole, was so ecstatic that nobody gave them a chance to collect themselves. It seemed to suit Rex and Wolffe just fine, as they seemed set to drink Gregor’s memory away. Sabine allowed herself a moment in a secluded corner, then joined the revelry. Hera, the professional rebel that she was, fielded calls from the command while Ryder -- temporarily assuming the position of the governor -- organised the city into a semblance of order, party be damned.

 

Kallus, still in his old imperial uniform, sat in the broken doorway of a half-ruined house with a beer and looked rather apprehensive.

 

“Not in the mood?,” Zeb collapsed beside him, utterly exhausted. It has been a long day in a succession of long days, and once he’s eaten his fill all he wanted to do was stop moving.

 

“I used to terrorise those people,” said Kallus, with a touch of nostalgia in his voice. “I don’t want to cause a scene, especially dressed like this.”

 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Would be in a bad taste to beat up civilians to save your scrawny ass.”

 

Kallus raised an eyebrow at him. “It doesn’t occur to you that I might deserve it?”

 

Zeb’s spent entirely too long ruminating on such scenarios. “Nope. You helped us save the planet today, Kal. Nobody gets to pass judgement anymore.”

 

Kallus pondered his beer for a moment, then reached over and punched Zeb in the arm, hard enough to actually hurt.

 

“Karabast!,” Zeb yelped. “What did I do now?!”

 

“ _Don’t wait for me_? Do you have a kriffing death wish?!”

 

Zeb blinked slowly, memories of jumping at Rukh resurfacing reluctantly in his mind.

 

“There wasn’t time to wait,” he said. “If we didn’t get those shields up--”

 

“Zeb,” Kallus cut in, looking at him sharply. “Do not _ever_ make me choose between saving a planet and your sorry hide again.”

 

There was a beat of silence, while Zeb digested this admission and Kallus clearly resolved to wait for the ground to open up and bury him alive. Normally, this would be a perfect opportunity for merciless mockery, but…

 

“I can’t promise that, you know.”

 

Kallus rubbed his temples. “I know. And I-- And I didn’t hesitate. I trusted you to make it out, but if you haven’t…,” he took a long swig from his bottle, searching for words. “I’ve got a mission lined up after this,” he said after a beat. Zeb didn’t think he’d like wherever this was going, and was proven right as soon as Kallus opened his mouth again. “The kind where you either succeed, or-- don’t.”

 

Zeb knew how Draven worked. Everyone was expendable, success of the mission was paramount. That’s why he and Kallus worked together so well -- they both actually believed that, and were ready to sacrifice themselves, if need be. Normally, Zeb would find that admirable, but right now? He sort of wanted to put Draven in a sack and throw him off a bridge.

 

“There a space on your mission for a lasat?”

 

That earned him a glare. “I can’t overstate how difficult it would be to put you undercover.”

 

“I could be on the relief team.”

 

“There isn’t a relief team.”

 

Zeb felt his ears lower and, for once, didn’t bother to hide it. “Extraction?”

 

Kallus _looked_ at him. He didn’t look any happier than Zeb felt.

 

“It’s not the kind of a job that affords an extraction.”

 

None of these were good news. Zeb caught himself thinking that, after saving Lothal, after losing both of his Jedis, after all that… he didn’t deserve _this_. Which was all kinds of messed up, and Kallus wasn’t a prize to be enjoyed after a battle. It wasn’t disappointment that churned in his stomach, though.

 

“Don’t-- stop with the face,” Kallus shoved him lightly. “Everything is set up, alright? I can’t back out now.”

 

“ _Why_?”

 

Whatever questions Kallus expected, this clearly wasn’t one of them. His face softened and he jerked his hand, like he was about to grab Zeb’s, but changed his mind at the last moment. Zeb was having none of that, though -- he took the human’s hand, the party raging all around them completely forgotten. Hell, Ezra could descend into the city on a purgill’s back, and Zeb wouldn’t look away.

 

“Why are you leaving?,” he repeated. He could have as well slapped Kallus in the face for the effect it had. “Is it because-- you know I wouldn’t do anything, right? Not unless you wanted me to.”

 

“That’s precisely the problem,” said Kallus. “I do.”

 

Well. That made precisely _no_ sense. Zeb’s insides battled briefly over which new information to tackle first -- that Kallus apparently returned his feelings, or that, for some idiotic, human reason decided that it was a _problem_ \-- but before he managed to work it out, Kallus extracted his hand and stood up.

 

“I don’t deserve it yet,” he said, with an air of finality.

 

And then he had the nerve to try and walk away.

 

Zeb tended to operate on autopilot under stress, but now, every muscle movement was premeditated. He grabbed Kallus’ elbow and dragged him into the house, away from onlookers; as soon as they were hidden from view, he slammed the other man into the most stable-looking wall, and loomed.

 

He was good at looming. Back on Lasan, he ran somewhat on the short side, so he had to make up for it with glaring, but humans were tiny. Even Kallus, possibly the tallest human he’d ever met, looked a little stricken when pinned by 18 stone of an angry lasat. Hopefully for different reasons than usual, but stricken nonetheless.

 

“Go on,” Zeb growled. That part wasn’t deliberate; he felt so close to a connection, and about to lose it to a stupid honor code. Some ancient part of his brain wasn’t dealing with that so well. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll let you go. Just… look me in the eyes and tell me.”

 

Kallus, however, wasn’t good at being intimidated. He probably got some sort of imperial training about it. So he looked Zeb in the eyes, and said: “I ordered your entire species wiped out.”

 

He knew that. He _knew_ , and it didn’t change anything. Ever since the conversation he had with Kanan, he tried to make sense of it, to no avail. Ever since he’d first seen a glimpse of a rebel in an Imperial agent on Bahryn, ever since Kallus had stumbled out of an emergency pod after Atollon, it became harder and harder to find the rage Zeb used to feel every waking moment. He moved closer, cupping Kallus’ face in both of his hands; close enough to feel him shiver when their foreheads touched.

 

“And I’m still here,” he said. “Where are _you_ going?”

 

“Don’t do this to me, Zeb--”

 

“Alex. Tell me to stop.”

 

He could feel Kallus exhale shakily, hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, but no words came. Outside, someone set off fireworks, and if Zeb ever needed a sign, that seemed like a fairly good one.

 

He expected it to be a bit weird at first -- logistics of human noses, for one, and their thin skin for another. But even in his most audacious fantasies he couldn’t have anticipated the sound Kallus would make, an impatient growl that poured liquid silver into Zeb’s blood. He tried to keep it slow, give them both time to adjust, but it set him on fire; he released Kallus’ face and let his paws roam, stroking and scratching and drinking in every new sound that escaped the former agent’s lips.

 

He tried to come up for air several times, to check if he wasn’t overstepping, just to _look_ , but Kallus kept drawing him back, biting at his lips and tugging at Zeb’s jumpsuit like he could tear it off with sheer force of will. The imperial uniform was less durable, easily giving under Zeb’s claws to expose Kallus’ neck. He had to force himself not to bite, nipping and licking at the freckled skin without sinking his teeth in, even though it cost him every last ounce of focus he had left.

 

“Uh, captain Orrelios?”

 

Nobody would ever find Mart’s body.

 

Kallus stiffened, but Zeb refused to let go of him. “This better be good, kid,” he grumbled without looking around. There was some shuffling of feet by the doorway -- a solid chance that Mart couldn’t see them too well in the darkness.

 

“Sabine’s been looking for you,” said Mart, either suicidal, or completely unaware of what he had interrupted.

 

“Well, she can keep looking,” he said, and Kallus actually snorted at that. Mart must have heard him, because he stammered something incomprehensible and ran off. “I will tear his legs off.”

 

“Not if I get to him first,” Kallus leaned in to rest his forehead on Zeb’s shoulder. “Zeb, I--”

 

“I love you.”

 

There, he said it. The thought had been bouncing around his skull since Kallus jumped off _Ghost_ ’s ramp and into the fight, and now that he allowed it to take shape, it seemed so obvious. Bonds on Lasan usually were.

 

When Kallus looked up at him, the void spilling out between them, it nearly broke his heart.

 

“I love you too,” no, no, no, no, _no,_ “I have to go.”

 

He kissed Zeb again, mouth covering all protests, and was gone before the lasat had a chance to grab him.

 

*

 

They didn’t see each other again for three years.

 

Zeb nearly got himself thrown into a brig for punching Draven in the face. He wasn’t permitted any intel on Kallus’ whereabouts, or even a status update; it was all very top secret, and bribes didn’t get him very far before Hera was sent to pack him onto the _Ghost_ and away from Yavin.

 

There was always work to be done, and his family, fragmented as it was, kept him busy enough. Before he managed to drive himself mad with misery, Hera started acted funny, so he and Sabine went on a little spying spree. After several prods from Chopper and a failed eavesdropping, she finally revealed she was pregnant. It didn’t completely take his mind off Kallus, but at least he had something else to worry about.

 

Three years. Three years of working himself to the bone, of constantly keeping an ear out for even the slightest sliver of information, of watching Jacen grow and Hera heal and wondering if he’ll ever get to. Three years of sporadic visits to Lira San, where the few friends he made kept offering to help him settle. Three years of wasting perfectly good opportunities, because even though Kallus took his soul and tore it into pieces, he still woke up at odd hours of the night dreaming of that ruined house.

 

Sabine called him dramatic and took him drinking. Hera called him romantic and told him to give it time. He wondered what Kanan and Ezra would have said. Sometimes, when left to his own devices for too long, he tried praying to Ashla, the way he hasn’t since he was a cub back on Lasan. He wasn’t sure what he was praying for, just… intensely wishing for things to turn out alright. He couldn’t be asking for more.

 

The war raged on around them, somehow avoiding Lothal, as if the wolves kept it under their protection until Ezra’s return. Zeb, somewhat unwelcome on Yavin now, mostly babysat for Hera, and bashed heads when asked to. He desperately avoided Chava and her good-intentioned talk of bonds, incredibly grateful that Sabine was always ready to provide a distraction. Bonds were an intensely personal matter on Lasan, but Lira San was somewhat more open on the topic, and so Chava felt entitled to telling him when he was being obvious.

 

Everytime the holonet exploded with something actually noteworthy -- Scarif, Alderaan, the Death Star -- he scoured the rebellion info boards for lists of casualties. Eventually, he had to choose between drinking his worries away and being useful to anyone at all, and although Hera didn’t say anything, he could tell he stopped a bar brawl away from getting an Intervention.

 

All the while, he collected contacts. Andor rather emphatically told him to get his head checked, but other members of Kallus’ trainee spy team were a bit more forthcoming. None of them were going to give him anything he could actually act on, of course, but rumours were enough. Still reporting in, said one message. Somewhere in the core worlds, said another. Doing good work. Saving people. _Alive_.

 

Zeb figured that it had to be enough. The messages kept coming, once every fifty cycles or even less often, even after Andor died on Scarif, Harris got captured during the battle of Hoth, well after Draven’s team started consisting mostly of people who’d never met Kallus. Sometimes, he wondered if it would be easier not to know, to try and forget, but inevitably, he’d wake up covered in cold sweat, trying to scrub the images of Kallus perishing on Alderaan from his mind.

 

When he got an actual live call through the Echo Base command module, he half expected Draven to be on the other side, telling him to knock it off already. Instead, a familiar face grinned at him in the holo.

 

“ _Captain Orrelios?,”_ said Lando Calrissian. “ _I believe I have rescued a dear friend of yours.”_

 

*

 

Zeb was a coward.

 

It was ridiculous. He’d waited for this very day for three goddamn years. Lando had even offered to take a scenic route and actually come drop Kallus off on Lothal, although Zeb suspected it was less out of the goodness of his heart and more because Kallus wasn’t really in shape to stow him away in a cargo transport. Sabine organised a medical droid to take an afternoon off the public clinic to come along and make sure no vital organs were missing.

 

And when the time came, Zeb found himself sitting on a lone rock in the middle of kriffing nowhere, Lothal, staring at the horizon and hating himself more by every passing minute. He had about a million questions, all of them only Kallus could answer, all running through his head over and over again, and he couldn’t force himself to go back to the city unless Ashla herself came to kick his ass in that general direction.

 

(Where have you been? Are you okay? Are you staying? Are you staying _with me_? Is that an option? Is that why you left? Should I have pretended nothing ever happened? Did you know it’s been three years? Did you know I kept looking? Did you know I can’t even imagine moving on, it’s eating me alive? Did you know--?)

 

The sun was beginning to set by the time Sabine found him.

 

“There you are,” she said cheerfully, hopping off her speeder. “Done freaking out yet?”

 

“No,” he grumbled. “Is he--?”

 

“Convinced that you hate him and coming to Lothal was a mistake? Yeah.”

 

Zeb pulled on his ears. “That’s not-- I don’t--”

 

She flung herself down next to him, helmet thrown carelessly to the side. “I know that, dummy. But I think Kallus had a couple of rough years out there, and he wasn’t exactly a glass half-full kind of person before, either.”

 

“It’s been so long,” he sighed. “I feel like I’ve imagined the whole thing.”

 

“Is that why you bolted?”

 

He shrugged. He’d been so excited after the initial call from Lando, until his brain betrayed him and went on a wild worst-case-scenario spree.

 

Sabine hummed. “I know something that’ll make you feel better.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Calrissian was fighting some pirates near Taanab when he picked up a distress signal.”

 

Zeb had a feeling he knew where this was going. “Let me guess. From an escape pod?”

 

“Bingo!”

 

That _did_ make him feel better. “What is it with him and escape pods?”

 

She shook her head. “You know, I’ve meant to ask you about this for a while.”

 

“About escape pods?,” he asked, suspicious, but when he looked at her she seemed thoughtful rather than mischievous

 

“He said he didn’t deserve you. Before he left.”

 

“I don’t know if I want to--”

 

“Well, does he?,” Zeb felt like a loth-cat caught in speeder lights. Sabine had a pretty piercing gaze when she put her mind to it. “You’re one of the best guys I’ve ever met, Zeb. And granted, Kallus has done some good work, but…,” she bit her lip. “He murdered your people. How do you forgive _that_?”

 

Zeb had spent long, lonely nights pondering just that. So when he finally gathered his thoughts enough, he knew exactly what to say.

 

“You don’t. I don’t think I can,” he rubbed his eyes. Suddenly, he was incredibly tired. “But knowing that he didn’t _know_ , that he sacrificed everything he ever believed in to make up for something that wasn’t his decision? How can I still hate him after that? And if I don’t hate him for Lasan, then he’s-- he’s brilliant. He’s brave and honorable, and it’s amazing, the way his brain works sometimes. In any other circumstances...”

 

Sabine blinked a few times. “Wow,” she said. “Did you have it written down?”

 

“I have a whole speech prepared for taking him to Lira San,” he admitted, only slightly embarrassed. “I said it’s been a long time.”

 

“You’re really serious about him, aren’t you.”

 

It wasn’t even a question. And there was something about her expression… Zeb’s ears pricked up, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else about.

 

“What are you--”

 

But Sabine was already jumping off the rock and onto her speeder, waving her helmet at him with a huge grin on her face.

 

“I’ve recorded the whole thing!,” she chirped. “See you back at home!”

 

The bottom of Zeb’s stomach fell out.

 

*

 

Zeb, being the master planner that he was, ran off into the steppes of Lothal without a speeder, and so made it back considerably later than Sabine.

 

They shared the Bridgers’ old house, him, Sabine, Hera and Jacen. It took some repairs and strategically placed partitions, but they made it work well enough. Hera was away a lot, sometimes taking Jacen with her, mostly entrusting him to whoever had less pressing matters on hand at the time. She’d been dealing with the fallout of the destruction of Echo Base for the last few weeks, and Sabine periodically returned to Mandalore to shout her family into submission, so for the most part, Jacen looked to Zeb for meals and bedtime stories.

 

Seeing Kallus feed mashed fruit to a toddler was a sight Zeb wasn’t going to forget in a hurry.

 

Neither Kallus or Jacen noticed Zeb’s arrival, engrossed in the logistics of spaceships that were really just spoons, so he took a moment to catalogue the differences before his usual emotional constipation took over.

 

Kallus looked… pretty terrible, actually. He was stick thin, his hair cut short and beard gone, with a bandage covering most of his head and his right eye. Apparently, it was making aiming the spaceships harder. Jacen was used to all kinds of skin colours on his guardians, so the bruises didn’t seem to alarm him, but Zeb felt queasy at the sight. Humans weren’t supposed to be that purple.

 

He was wearing his old captain uniform. Zeb had to wonder if he’s seen Draven yet; if he was getting a promotion for whatever it was his mission entailed. Selfishly, he hoped no on both accounts.

 

Eventually, Jacen’s bowl was empty and the boy started looking around, finally spotting Zeb in the doorway. “Uncle!,” he yelled. He had yet to master his inside voice. Kallus went pale, dropping the spoon and banging his elbow into the table at the same time.

 

“Hey, kid,” Zeb figured that whatever needed to be said, didn't require Jacen’s presence. “I think it's sleepy time now.”

 

Jacen slid off his chair, already in full pout mode. “But the new uncle just got here! I want to hear stories!”

 

“Well, I’m sure we can manage a story once you’re in bed. Hop to it.”

 

Jacen’s hands were sticky with fruit, and there was some debris from painting with Sabine earlier evident in his hair, but Zeb made an executive decision against baths, just this once. He wiped the boy off best he could and send him to his bedroom, before turning to Kallus, who was still standing stock still next to the table and looking terrified out of his wits.

 

Zeb wondered if Sabine played him the recording, or if she just left him with Jacen to stop him from packing it up and catching the next transport off-world.

 

Before he could talk himself out of it, he gathered Kallus into a hug. “I’m glad you’re back,” he said into his hair, “I’ll put the sprog to sleep, then we can talk.”

 

Letting go was harder than he thought, especially when Kallus wrapped his arms around his back. Thankfully, Jacen always had a perfect timing. He knocked something heavy onto the floor and the racket and accompanying ‘oops’ was more than enough to send Zeb to the rescue. At least Kallus looked a bit less ashen when they parted.

 

It was late enough that Zeb didn’t even get to the end of the tattered copy of ‘ _Ryloth tales_ ’ before Jacen’s eyes blinked closed. He wasn’t a difficult kid to deal with, which was just as good, because Zeb had been the youngest sibling, and didn’t have many opportunities to care for children since he’s come of age. As long as Jacen was fed and given something to learn from, you could forget there was a kid around to mind.

 

When he returned to the kitchen, carefully closing the door behind him, Kallus was inspecting the myriad of pictures on the walls.

 

“He’s Kanan’s, isn’t he?,” he asked quietly. Zeb nodded, heading over to the counter to get some caf going.

 

“It was a hell of a fun pregnancy. She kept flying all the way through, too.”

 

“Sounds like Hera,” Kallus smiled, but it was a brittle thing. “I missed a lot, haven’t I?”

 

“Yeah. Will take a while to catch you up,” he placed two cups of caf on the table and sat down, feeling his entire body itch to get closer to the other man. “Have a seat.”

 

Kallus did sit down, too carefully for his ribs to be whole. “I, ah. I don’t think I’m allowed caf yet,” he said. “Liquid diet.”

 

That threw Zeb off the tracks somewhat. “What?,” he blurted out. “I mean, you don’t need to tell me--”

 

“My assignment was a success,” Kallus interrupted him calmly. “But I’ve blown my cover in the process. The people I worked with didn’t take kindly to discovering my true affiliation.”

 

And didn’t that sound like a riot. “I’ll get you some water.”

 

Zeb used the few moments he had when crossing the kitchen to the sink to mentally collect himself. He had a nasty feeling about Kallus’ injuries from the start, and this was all the confirmation he needed. The realisation must have shown up on his face, because Kallus immediately said upon his return to the table:

  
“I’m fine, Zeb.”

 

“You look like a coat hanger. That’s not even close to ‘fine’ in my book.”

 

The one un-bandaged brow raised at him, nonplussed. “You do say the nicest things.”

 

He shrugged. “I’ve been practicing.”

 

“Clearly.”

 

They were silent for a moment, sipping their respective drinks. Zeb couldn’t decide what to do; he felt that, if he started asking questions, he’d never stop. Besides, there was no telling what kind of scars was Kallus bearing these days, and such things were best left for time to heal. And while he didn’t particularly want to admit it, he _did_ make things awkward for them, three years ago.

 

Kallus smirked. “You’re such a martyr, you know.”

 

“I-- excuse me?”

 

“I thought you’d kick my ass as soon as I showed my face again. But here you are, convincing yourself that somehow, everything is your fault.”

 

Zeb felt a touch of nostalgia at being insulted. And wasn’t that just typical?

 

“The ass-kicking isn’t off the menu yet, so watch your mouth.”

 

Kallus looked at him fondly. “I missed you.”

 

Was it worth it?, Zeb thought he’d want to ask. Was it necessary to leave? But now that Kallus was sitting in the same room, not entirely in one piece but _here,_ and safe, and not going anywhere as long as Zeb had any say in that, he didn’t care a fig for knowing answers to those questions. There was no void pooling around Kallus, no distance in his tone. Zeb’s throat tightened.

 

“Karabast,” he muttered, covering his eyes. “I’m _not_ going to cry.”

 

He did, eventually. But with his face pressed into Kallus’ chest, nobody needed to know.

 

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> There might be more?


End file.
